


Blame the Cook

by caloriebomb



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam Parrish eats and eats, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Feeding Kink, Hand Feeding, M/M, Stuffing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:48:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23904901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caloriebomb/pseuds/caloriebomb
Summary: Despite Adam's accusations, Ronan was not happy that Harvard had closed its doors for the semester. No, because being happy about Harvard's closure would imply he was happy about the circumstances that had forced it, and being happy about a goddamn global pandemic was sheer callous lunacy, he and Adam were in agreement about that. Even if said pandemic was to thank for Adam's presence in the kitchen of the Barns, and the promise of his presence for months to come, Ronan wasn't happy about it.“Why are you grinning like that, then?” Adam said.- i.e. Ronan and Adam quarantine at the Barns, and Adam gets hella fat.
Relationships: Richard Gansey III/Blue Sargent, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 27
Kudos: 213





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set during our current quarantine, and while I do not in any way intend to make light of the covid-19 pandemic, the possibilities for this kink were too good to pass up. Just trying to find some productivity in a badddddd situation, y'all, even if "productivity" in this case means "kinky kinky weight gain smut."
> 
> I'll be honest, this fic takes place pretty removed from the books -- the only direct connection is the characters and the location, but I ignore pretty much everything else in favor of just making Ronan and Adam hang out and do naughty things to one another. So if you have come for plot, turn tail and flee. In fact, if you have come for anything but Adam Parrish eating a Barns' worth of food, now is the time to run.

Despite Adam's accusations, Ronan was not happy that Harvard had closed its doors for the semester. No, because being happy about Harvard's closure would imply he was happy about the circumstances that had forced it, and being happy about a goddamn global pandemic was sheer callous lunacy, he and Adam were in agreement about that. Even if said pandemic was to thank for Adam's presence in the kitchen of the Barns, and the promise of his presence for months to come, Ronan wasn't happy about it. 

“Why are you grinning like that, then?” Adam said. But he was grinning, himself, one slim-fingered hand clasped around Ronan's wrist as if he didn't want to break contact, even though they'd spent the last twenty minutes or so of their reunion pressed together against the kitchen countertop. 

Ronan hid his grin in Adam's neck, huffing the excellent fresh-air smell of him. “Fine, Parrish,” he said. “You got me. I dreamed this awful fucking disease just to get you back here.”

“Let's not make light of the situation,” Adam said. 

Ronan tugged the neck of Adam's shirt down and bit gently at his elegant collarbone. “What should we make then?”

“Dinner,” Adam proclaimed, then frowned. “Have you been to the store recently? I stopped on the way out of Cambridge to get that canned chowder you like, and it was a madhouse – practically all the cans were gone, just pears in syrup and peas left.”

In answer, Ronan leaped away from him and began throwing open cabinets, banging their doors for the sheer raucous hell of it. Adam laughed, disbelieving. 

“Jesus, Ronan,” he said. “I didn't take you for a panic-shopper.”

“Ten kinds of macaroni and cheese,” Ronan informed him, instead of admitting that he'd shopped not out of panic, but out of a wild excess of excited energy at the thought of Adam's arrival. “Three kinds of ramen. Brownie mix. Frosting. Frozen cookie dough. Enough spaghetti-os to fill the Hondoyota.”

“Let's not,” Adam said, wrinkling his nose. 

“They'd improve it.”

Adam looked like he was about to defend his terrible car but when he opened his mouth, a yawn emerged instead. 

“Do you need a _nap?_ ” Ronan asked. 

“It was a long drive,” Adam said defensively. 

“Go nap then,” Ronan said, shoving at him. “Go get your beauty sleep on the couch. I'll make dinner.”

Adam eyed him with fond skepticism. “You mean you'll open a can or two.”

“No,” Ronan said, “I mean I'll order pizza. Support local businesses and all.”

“The only pizza that delivers out here is awful. It's all grease.”

Ronan raised an eyebrow. “It's pizza.”

Adam shrugged, conceding the point. He was obviously tired – too tired to make any kind of protest about anything, and a few minutes later he was sacked out on the couch in the den, his shoes lined up at its foot and his arms folded over his stomach. Composed and in-control even in sleep. Ronan waited until his breathing had slowed and then stood over the couch, looking Adam over. He had dark circles ringing his eyes and his beautiful cheekbones seemed even sharper than usual, his slightly gaunt face ever-so-slightly gaunter. The bones in his bony wrists were too-prominent. 

“What the fuck, Parrish,” Ronan muttered. “You never heard of the fucking freshman fifteen?”

“I'm a junior,” Adam murmured sleepily, though he didn't open his eyes. “Stop staring at me. Had a flu a few weeks ago. Couldn't eat.”

“What?” Ronan said. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Didn't want to worry you,” Adam said. “Passed quickly.”

Ronan kicked the leg of the couch and stalked into the kitchen. He could be mad about the new hollows in Adam's cheeks, or he could do something to fill them. He ordered pizza like ordering troops into battle. 

“Extra cheese,” he snarled. “Extra pepperoni. Extra sausage. Extra goddamn pizza.”

“Extra – pizza?” The voice on the other end of the phone sounded confused. “You mean, like, you want another pizza? Or you want me to extra-large the first one?”

“Both,” Ronan snapped. He glanced into the living room at Adam's too-slender form and added with dark finality, “Plus breadsticks.”

No, Ronan wasn't happy about the pandemic. But having Adam here, under his roof, under his care, for the foreseeable future? Well, he'd be lying if he said he was displeased, and Ronan never lied. 

+

Adam, Ronan learned, still actually had classes to attend, though attendance no longer meant crowding into a lecture hall but rather sitting in the living room with a pair of headphones and a screenful of dopey Harvard faces staring back at him. It meant that for several hours a day Ronan couldn't speak to Adam, or wave at him, or take his shirt off anywhere within eyesight. It meant he was under no circumstances allowed to run the lawnmower or the blender or open the jewelry box he'd recently dreamed up, the one that screamed bloody murder when you popped the lid. Literally, it screamed the words “Bloody murder!!!” 

When he wasn't attending class, he was doing homework, despite the fact that his professors had already promised an A for everyone. Ronan found his dedication to school mind-boggling, but then, there was much about Adam Parrish he found mind-boggling, and he tried to hold his teasing and complaining back. They were going to be locked up together for some time, it seemed, and Ronan did not want Adam to get sick of him. Didn't want Adam to compare this life to the one he'd had at Harvard and find it – find Ronan – lacking. So Ronan gritted his teeth and tried to toe the line. 

However, after months with no contact, Ronan found it difficult to be in Adam's presence yet not be allowed to talk to him or touch him. So he set to feeding him, instead. This, Adam agreed, was allowed. Ronan could bring him snacks, if he did so unobstrusively and the snacks were not too embarrassing to eat on a video screen in front of his professor and classmates.

For the first few weeks, Ronan relied on his extensive larder of non-perishable goods, bringing Adam bags of chips and frozen pizzas and containers of instant mac and cheese; the same food, in fact, that they ate in the evenings for dinner. 

“Ronan,” Adam groaned one night, staring down at the enormous bowl of Kraft mac and cheese Ronan had just set before him with a flourish. “If I eat any more macaroni, I'll turn orange.”

“We ate the white stuff for lunch,” Ronan pointed out. He cracked a beer for Adam and then one for himself and sat across from him at the kitchen table. 

“I'm not a terrible cook,” Adam said, picking up his fork with a look of resignation. “Maybe tomorrow I'll find a recipe with a vegetable in it and head into town for groceries. All the stores are still open; we don't need to be eating all your canned stuff.”

“Thought you had that paper due tomorrow,” Ronan said, his own mouth full of orange noodles. 

“I do,” Adam said, sighing. “But I can't even think right when all I'm eating is cheese.”

“Find me a recipe,” Ronan said. “I'll cook.”

“No, I ought to,” Adam said. He took a long gulp of beer. “Seeing as it's your food.”

“Our food,” Ronan said. 

Adam looked as if he wanted badly to correct him, but he swallowed down whatever he was going to say with a big bite of macaroni. So far Adam had been good about accepting Ronan's hospitality; he'd offered him money just once, and allowed himself to be brutally shot-down with uncharacteristic resignation. Ronan understood that the chaos of the big picture had relaxed his sense of control over the smaller. In light of a deadly virus on the loose, a country-wide lockdown, and the looming threat of economic collapse, Adam had readjusted his anxieties. And thank god. The last thing Ronan wanted to do was fight about whether or not he'd let Adam crack open his measly bank account to buy, what, three boxes of pasta? Ridiculous. 

“I've never seen you cook,” Adam said. “Except from a box or a can or a freezer. Can you?” He sounded genuinely curious. 

“Yeah,” Ronan said. “Lasagna. Corned beef. Pancakes. Shit like that.” Family foods he'd learned at his mother's elbow. But he didn't want to think about family, not right now, when he was feeling good. 

Adam studied him, assessing. “All right,” he said. “Let's have corned beef, then. And some kind of vegetable, for the love of god.”

“Deal,” Ronan said. He found himself looking forward to it like he'd look forward to any project, and he grinned around his beer bottle. Then he noticed that Adam had already finished his macaroni and cheese, so he stalked to the stove to empty the rest of the pot into Adam's empty bowl. 

“You don't want any more?” Adam said, loading up his fork. Ronan showed him his own bowl; it was still half-full. Adam had always eaten quickly – and usually, lightly. These days he was still doing the former but not, Ronan had noticed, the latter. These days Adam ate whatever Ronan gave him, and Ronan had been giving him a lot, mostly because he liked giving Adam things and he'd never been allowed to do so this freely, not without a fight.

There was something else to it, too. If he was being honest, he found himself particularly, and compellingly, interested by Adam's appetite. Interested... and turned-on. Adam was a regimented person, usually. He was deliberate. Controlled. Canny. Ronan was used to watching him deliberate every slice of pizza, every bite of gelato, every french fry, either because he'd bought it and wanted to make it count, or because someone else had bought it and Adam didn't want to take more than his fair share. 

Now, though, he polished off the rest of the macaroni and cheese without comment, and when Ronan gave him a bowl of ice cream while he reviewed his notes, he ate that, too. It did something to Ronan, watching Adam loosen up like this, because of him. 

He tasted like chocolate when Ronan kissed him that night. 

+

“Ronan,” Adam said the next evening, disbelievingly. “This is – this is really good.”

Ronan shrugged, dropping a plate of bread and a dish of butter in front of Adam's plate. As promised, he'd made corned beef, and mashed potatoes, and a broccoli casserole in deference to Adam's request for vegetables, and then, for the hell of it, he'd made a loaf of his mother's quick-baking soda bread, too. It had taken him the better part of an afternoon and he'd been surprised by how much he'd enjoyed the process. 

Not nearly as much as he enjoyed watching Adam enjoy the result, however. 

“I'm serious,” Adam said, between hasty bites. “God, it's delicious.”

“You doubted me?” Ronan said. 

“Yeah,” Adam said, and Ronan laughed. 

He stopped laughing, though, as Adam wrapped his lips around the fork again. He watched Adam fill his gaunt cheeks, watched the strong line of his throat as he swallowed. Adam was eating food that he, Ronan, had made. Not in a dream, but here in the world. Ronan had labored and now Adam was eating his labor. 

Why was that so fucking sexy? 

“Have more,” Ronan said, when Adam had cleaned his plate. 

“I'm full,” Adam protested, but he was already cutting himself another slice of bread, and when Ronan loaded his plate again with beef and potatoes, he didn't protest, just tucked back in with a sigh of satisfaction. 

God, but that sigh did things to Ronan. As did the sight of Adam licking butter off one of his beautiful fingers. Ronan had to stand up at that, had to go rattle some beer bottles and slam the refrigerator door just to relieve some of the tension he felt brewing in him. 

When Ronan set a beer in front of Adam, he caught Ronan's wrist in one of his glorious hands. His thumb ran up and down the leather bands Ronan wore, and he tilted his head invitingly. Ronan did not have to be invited twice. He kissed Adam with such ferocity that Adam dropped his fork.

“Thank you,” Adam said, breathlessly. “For dinner.”

“Yeah, well,” Ronan said, and kissed him again. “You can make it up to me later.”

Adam, who somehow always surprised Ronan with his own fierce desires, said, in a voice full of summer lightning, “I'm counting on it.”


	2. Chapter 2

Adam should not have been surprised by Ronan's prowess in the kitchen. After all, Ronan was talented at a good many things, and it stood to reason that he'd take to cooking as he'd taken to so much else: Latin, trouble, dreaming. But what surprised him most was his own reaction to it. 

The first time he walked into the kitchen and caught Ronan standing over the stove with a wooden spoon to his lips, tasting pasta sauce, Adam had to stop and catch his breath. 

Ronan Lynch, a creature of pure magic, a boy who could bring his dreams to life, beloved property of the devil himself, was wearing an apron. 

It wasn't that the apron softened Ronan. On the contrary, it did quite the opposite. With an apron around his waist, Ronan's shoulders seemed suddenly broader, his smile sharper, his eyebrows wickeder, his arms stronger. He looked like a cursed knife hidden in a silverware drawer. Like a snake in a pile of yarn. Adam couldn't look away. 

“Taste this,” Ronan said, and came across the kitchen to slot the spoon between Adam's parted lips. 

“Delicious,” Adam murmured. It was: bright, mellow, rich with some kind of tender meat. 

“Lamb,” Ronan said. He said it caressingly, almost to Adam, an endearment. His hand was in Adam's hair. 

“Fancy,” Adam said, trying not to gasp as Ronan put his lips to his good ear. 

“I made cookies,” Ronan said, his breath hot. The feeling went straight between Adam's legs. “Sugar. You want?”

“I – yes – I – god, Ronan, I have class in a minute, I can't – you've gotta stop, or I won't be able to – christ.”

Ronan was sucking on his neck, one hand trailing down his torso, fingers catching on the waistband of Adam's jeans. He tried to insinuate a hand between the denim and Adam's skin, but the jeans were too tight for that, and – 

Huh. That was new. These jeans had always been loose on him. Had they shrunk in the wash? Adam took advantage of his own momentary distraction and staggered backwards as Ronan's thumb found his button. 

“I have, I have,” he panted. 

“Class,” Ronan said. “So you mentioned.” Abruptly he moved away from Adam and towards the oven. “Go, then,” he said. “I'll bring you some cookies.”

Some cookies, indeed. Once Adam had calmed his hectic pulse and settled himself on the sofa in front of his Zoom class, Ronan brought him what looked like the entire pan, piled on a plate, redolent of butter and still warm. Adam caught sight of himself on camera, licking crumbs off his lips, and suddenly the erection he'd fought down minutes before was back. There was something impossibly erotic about publicly eating these cookies Ronan had made for him – it felt almost like his class was watching Ronan kiss his neck, though of course he knew that wasn't what they saw. No one was even looking. Nevertheless, Adam kept watching himself, watched himself eat cookie after cookie after cookie, riding an edge of arousal so intense he could barely pay attention to what the professor was saying. 

By the time class was over, the plate was empty and Adam was shockingly, achingly full. He took off his headphones and in the sudden absence of droning post-colonial theory, with the birds singing outside and his belly bloated and throbbing against his waistband, his arousal seemed absolutely ridiculous. He had eaten about fifteen cookies over the course of the class, and why? Because Ronan had been wearing an apron? 

He groaned at the image his brain provided. His arousal might be ridiculous... yet it showed no signs of going away. He had to do something about it or die. 

“Christ, Parrish,” Ronan said a while later, when they were lying in a tangled heap on the kitchen floor. “It's like no one ever made you cookies before.”

“No one has,” Adam said honestly, and Ronan shoved another cookie into his mouth. 

+

Adam always prided himself on his frugality. He had to be frugal if he wanted to live: frugal with money, with resources, with trust. He wasn't used to having enough of what he needed and he certainly wasn't used to having more than he needed, much less wanted. Here with Ronan he had an excess of everything, a condition that might once have made him wary, but now, with all bets off, with the world eerily paused, he found himself turning towards it with interest. It was as if he and Ronan were living in a bubble, as if nothing he did here mattered to anybody but Ronan and never would. 

Ronan had made something relatively simple that evening – just burgers and homemade french fries, with chocolate cream pie for dessert. But he'd made so goddamn much of everything and it was all so incredibly good. The burgers were tender and dripping, smothered in cheddar cheese and piled onto buns Ronan had made from scratch, and the french fries were crispy and pillowy. 

Adam had eaten a big lunch, several leftover pieces of an excellent lasagna followed by a plate of fresh brownies, the latter of which he'd eaten during class, one by one until he'd had six of them, watching himself on the screen and imagining that the fingers pushing them continuously into his mouth were Ronan's, not his own. 

Your snacks always look so good, a classmate had private-chatted him. Jealous. 

My boyfriend's a great cook, he'd written back, feeling a zing just from typing the words. 

Despite the brownies still sitting heavy in his stomach, Adam somehow let himself be talked into eating three entire burgers that evening – two more burgers than he'd ever allowed himself, ever in his twenty-one years on earth. 

It was because Ronan had served them to him. Ronan had arranged his first burger just-so, spreading the mayo and mustard on the bun, organizing the pickles, layering the tomatoes before he'd set the plate in front of Adam, and he did the same with the second burger. He didn't even ask, just took Adam's empty plate and began attentively building burger #2; and then, when that was finished, burger #3. 

Adam had put up a token protest when he'd realized that Ronan was building him a third burger. 

“Ronan,” he groaned. “You've got to be kidding. No one can eat three burgers.”

“You can, Parrish,” Ronan had said cheerfully, and set the burger down before cupping Adam's face in his hand and giving him the kind of kiss that stoked every hunger a body had.

Being this kind of hungry was a novel feeling for Adam. He'd been hungry before, pitifully so, but there was nothing pitiful about his hunger now. It felt vivid and fierce and sweetly, remarkably satable, as if he just kept eating, if he just kept kissing Ronan, he might for the first time in his life come to know fulfillment. 

He was certainly coming to know fullness, anyway. Being full was a novel feeling for Adam yet one he was already getting used to. He'd never been this full, though. Three burgers and a mound of french fries followed by two slices of chocolate cream pie would've been quite a lot even without the vestiges of fullness from his big lunch, and oh, was Adam feeling it. 

His stomach felt tender and stretched, gurgling as he pressed his hand against it, and his jeans hurt so badly he'd had to pop his top button. 

“I cannot believe,” Adam said, “that you made me eat so much.”

“Nobody made you do anything,” Ronan said. He was still eating his own first slice of pie, and he loaded up his fork and nudged Adam's tired lips with it. “Here.”

Why did Adam open his mouth? Why did he let Ronan feed him that bite, and then another? Why was the pain in his stomach almost pleasurable, moving lower, between his legs, pulsing in time to his heart?

They'd had dinner out on the porch in the cool March air, beneath a string of dream lights that emitted a warm, enveloping glow, and Adam was slumped back on the wooden bench they were sharing, uncomfortable and uncomfortably aroused. Ronan pushed another bite of pie into his mouth, then set aside the empty plate and coasted a hand across Adam's middle, which felt hot and swollen beneath his threadbare t-shirt. 

“Oh god that feels good,” Adam groaned. He licked cream off his lips. “Don't stop.”

Ronan slipped his hand beneath the t-shirt and stroked the warm skin of Adam's painful belly, his fingers firm and sure. For a while the touch was chaste, comforting, but then inevitably his hand trailed downwards and he began playing with Adam's unbuttoned waistband. 

“These are too small,” Ronan said. 

“No they're not,” Adam said, pointlessly defiant, and Ronan laughed against his neck and murmured something Adam didn't catch. “You're on my deaf side,” he said. “Speak up.”

“I said,” Ronan repeated, “that you're in denial.”

“Denial about what?” Adam said. “That your washing machine runs too hot?”

Ronan was sliding off the bench and onto his knees, looking up at Adam through his lashes, and Adam felt suddenly boneless, all his sensation focused in his throbbing stomach and throbbing cock. 

“I'll tell you what runs hot,” Ronan said, dragging Adam's zipper down, and the relief Adam felt wasn't entirely because of the room provided for his hardened dick. His packed-full belly breathed its own sigh of freedom. 

“Tell me,” Adam said.

“Hips,” Ronan ordered, and Adam lifted his hips so Ronan could tug his tight jeans and boxers down around his thighs, and Adam couldn't help but laugh wildly. They were outside, the moon burning on the horizon, the fields wide and rolling and open, bats swooping for their supper, and Ronan Lynch was putting his mouth on Adam right out here in the open. His left leg kicked out a little, a response to the electrical shock of pleasure that ran through him as Ronan licked down his shaft and then swallowed the head of his cock with one bobbing motion. 

He could hear himself talking, babbling, mostly just repeating Ronan's name, his fingers gripping Ronan's shoulders, trying not to buck his hips, trying not to come too soon, but all bets were off when Ronan splayed his big warm hand and placed it wide over Adam's bloated belly, fingers digging in almost too hard. 

Adam's orgasm hit like a freight train, all roar and wind and light, and he shouted just because he could, shouted at the top of his lungs because there was no one but Ronan to hear him. Ronan crawled back up his body and began kissing him before the aftershocks had even started to fade, and Adam kissed him back, grateful and ecstatic and maybe even a little frightened, because it had always been intense between them but it felt lately like the intensity was mounting, rising, nowhere near peak. 

“Let me,” Adam said, reaching for Ronan's own pants, taking an appreciative moment to cup the hard line of Ronan's cock straining against its prison of black denim, but to his surprise, Ronan pulled away. 

“Can we --” Ronan stopped and bit his lip, an uncharacteristic gesture. In the glowing dream light his face was softer than usual, still all planes and edges but less dangerous, his icy blue eyes swallowed by pupil. 

“What?” Adam asked. He smoothed a hand down the back of Ronan's shaved head, feeling the softness tickle his palm. “What do you want?”

“I want to watch you,” Ronan said, and swallowed. “Want to watch you eat another piece of that pie. Want to watch your mouth, your lips, your --” he swallowed again, convulsively, and Adam saw both how much this request had cost him and also how very much he desired it. 

“Oh?” Adam said. He had pulled up his boxers and jeans but didn't bother to try and zip them. He touched his stomach consideringly. It still hurt, of course it did; he'd eaten far more than a person should. But the orgasm had acted like a painkiller and the discomfort felt more like a cousin to the pleasure that had recently rocked him. “That's what you want?” he said. “You want – you want to touch yourself while I eat pie?”

“Yeah,” Ronan said. 

“All right,” Adam said. “You'll have to cut it for me, though. I'm not sure I can move just now.”

Eagerly, Ronan scrambled to do so. With a jolt of amazement Adam saw that his hands were shaking as he levered a thick slice onto Adam's plate. Ronan was a passionate person, not shy with his desires, but it was very difficult to undo him completely – and Adam saw that that's what was happening right now. Ronan was undone by the simple gesture of handing Adam a piece of pie. 

Adam filed that away for later, and with a hard sigh, forked off a big bite. He knew he had a tendency to eat too quickly, but his time he forced himself to slow. He raised it to his lips and then paused just as the pie hovered at his mouth. 

“Go on,” Adam said. “Take yourself out. I wanna see.”

Ronan unzipped his pants with shaking hands, groaning a little as his swollen cock came free. He gave it a quick, rough stroke, eyes locked on Adam. Adam stared right back at him, swallowing the bite of pie slowly, sucking on the tines of the fork. Ronan groaned again. Adam fed himself another bite, dimly aware of how his stomach was gurgling in protest, but god, it tasted amazing, tasted even better with Ronan coming apart next to him. There was a small, nasty voice in his mind asking a series of questions he didn't want, questions about why his jeans were feeling tight, why he thought he deserved to eat the way he had been, but he'd listen to that voice later. For now all he listened to were the helpless, choked-out noises of Ronan jerking himself off to Adam's slow, pained demolishment of the pie. 

“Are you – are you full?” Ronan gasped. 

“I,” Adam paused, trying to catch his breath, “am so fucking full, Ronan.”

“Yeah?” Ronan said, also breathless, though for different reasons. “You like – oh god – you like my pie, Parrish?”

Instinctively, Adam knew what Ronan wanted to hear. He shoved an enormous bite into his mouth and spoke around it. “I love your pie. Feel like I'm gonna burst but I can't stop eating it.” He swallowed with some difficulty and took another bite. “It's getting me so full, Ronan, filling me up, not gonna be able to move after this. Last bite, now. God, I can't believe I've eaten so much. Look what you did to me – look how goddamn full I am, you can see it. You did this to me.”

With a cry, Ronan came, filling his hand as he arched his back and shook and then curled in on himself, panting. 

Adam was panting too, feeling the full weight of his dinner churning in his stomach. Three burgers. Several potatoes worth of fries. Three pieces of pie. What had he been thinking?

Ronan raised his head, eyes glittering, and Adam thought, oh. Right. He hadn't been thinking. Couldn't think, not with Ronan looking at him like that. 

“Fuck,” Ronan said succinctly. 

“Yeah,” Adam said, and tried to laugh, but it hurt too much. “Ow.”

Ronan tucked himself away, wiping his hand on a napkin and tossing it carelessly aside. He put his hand on Adam's packed belly again, soothing it, rubbing it, dropping kisses on the parts of Adam's face that he could reach: his cheek, the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his deaf ear. He was murmuring again, but Adam didn't call him on it, just enjoyed the feeling of his moving lips and the huff of his breath. 

Adam looked down at himself, a bit disconcerted to see how visible the bloat of his dinner was. His slender middle was rounded outward like he'd never seen it, and Ronan's hand rubbed circles across it, fingers pressing into the strained flesh. It was the very picture of excess, of decadence, of a total loss of control. 

Was it worth it? The nasty voice in his mind asked. Was it worth making a pig of yourself for one lousy orgasm? 

No, Adam thought. But for the look on Ronan's face as he came? Yes. For that look, nearly anything was worth it.


	3. Chapter 3

Ronan could not quite articulate – or was not ready to articulate – why he kept pushing food on Adam. Why he felt the need to experiment, to see how much he could get Adam to eat without noticing it, to see how much he could get him to eat despite his fullness or his self-restraint or his physical discomfort. 

“I was wondering when you were going to climb on the sourdough train,” Adam said, coming into the kitchen one morning to find Ronan checking his starter. Ronan cocked a brow, confused. “Everyone's doing it,” Adam said. “According to the internet.”

Ronan accorded very little to the internet except recipes. “Sit,” he said. “I'll make you breakfast before your first class.”

Adam, however, stayed standing. It was a week or so after The Pie Incident, i.e. the crowning sexual experience of Ronan's life, and Adam had been more rigid lately about what he ate. At least, Ronan could see him trying to be more rigid; could see him trying, and failing. 

“I'll just grab a granola bar,” Adam said. 

“Got that bacon from Earl's farm,” Ronan said, offhandedly. “It'll only take a minute to fry some up.”

Adam hesitated, longing clear on his face. “I only have this one pair of jeans,” he said finally. 

Ronan waited, heart pounding, but no more seemed forthcoming. “Okay,” he said. “Your point?”

“Well,” Adam said, and his pale face pinkened. “They're getting a little small. And, uh. I don't think it's your washing machine.”

For a second, Ronan didn't trust himself to respond. He knew if he spoke it would come out a tortured rasp, because jesus god, suddenly he was getting hard. He cleared his throat. “What do you think it is?”

Adam flushed darker. “Come on, Ronan. You fed me a pint of ice cream for a midnight snack last night.”

“Oh, it's my fault your pants don't fit?”

“Pretty much.”

Ronan moved into Adam's space, crowding him, running his hands along Adam's waistband. “Hmm,” he said. He tugged on Adam's belt loops. He stroked the places where the pants were cutting into Adam's skin. “Yeah. See what you mean.”

“So no,” Adam drawled. “I don't want bacon.”

“I can dream you new jeans.” Ronan tried to wedge his hands in Adam's back pockets, but even that was too much of a squeeze. God, was Adam's ass getting bigger? The thought made his knees weak. 

“I don't want new jeans,” Adam said, pulling away. “I want these ones to fit.”

“Why?”

Adam looked exasperated. “Because – well, because –”

“Forget the bacon,” Ronan said. “There's that leftover chocolate cake. What about you eat that while I blow you?”

“Ronan! I can't eat cake for breakfast.”

“Why not?”

Adam shoved him away. “Stop asking these stupid questions,” he said, but Ronan knew him too well to miss the look of interested arousal in his eyes. He said, “One piece.”

He went to sit in a kitchen chair, hesitating before he sat, glancing to Ronan. Then he sighed, popped open his jeans button and tugged the zipper down, sank into the chair with a look of resignation. He was wearing one of his customary worn-thin t-shirts, and when he sat, Ronan could see the subtle curve of his belly beneath it, new and fascinating. It had never even occurred to him to wonder what Adam would look like if he weren't gaunt and faded, never occurred to him that he'd be lucky enough to see. 

“One piece, I said!” Adam protested. Ronan had brought over the whole remaining half a cake, with a fork. He settled the platter on his lap, however, and readied the fork. 

“So just eat one piece,” Ronan shrugged. 

“It's eight in the morning,” Adam said. “Way too early for this much sugar.” But he licked a smear of chocolate from his thumb, looking hungry and excited despite himself. 

“Go on,” Ronan said. “Get going.”

Adam drove his fork into the cake with an air of exasperation, but Ronan knew it was all for show. He wanted that cake as badly as Ronan wanted him to eat it. His eyes fluttered briefly closed as he took the first bite, and Ronan sank to his knees. 

“Keep eating,” he ordered.

And Adam did. He ate and ate and ate, as Ronan had known he would, complaining the whole time between groans of pleasure. Ronan dragged out the blow job for as long as possible, giving Adam plenty of time to finish the entire half a cake, and then, under Ronan's directions, to lick the platter clean, panting and bucking his hips. Ronan fisted himself with one hand as he bobbed his mouth on Adam's dick, trying to time his orgasm to Adam's, and he came in silent waves of white-out bliss as Adam came with a long, stuttered shout, the empty platter clanging to the ground, his sugar-sticky fingers scrabbling for purchase on Ronan's shoulders. 

When Ronan surfaced, Adam had smears of chocolate all around his parted lips. Tenderly, Ronan licked them off, mingling the taste of Adam's spunk with the strong cocoa. Adam was breathing heavily, a hand draped across his middle, his posture a horror. 

“Well, shit,” Adam said eventually. “You may as well fry up that bacon.”

Ronan's brows shot up in delight. “Oh yeah?”

“I need some salt after all that sugar,” Adam said. “God, am I full, though.”

“I'll make eggs, too,” Ronan said. 

“Scrambled,” Adam said. 

Ronan couldn't take his eyes from him as Adam worked his way through a plate of scrambled eggs and a huge, crispy pile of bacon, his lips greasy, his breath labored. Fullness was in every line of his body, one hand pressed to his stomach, which was visibly bloating as he stuffed it. 

“Shit,” Adam panted. “Gotta stop eating like this. Gotta stop. I'm so goddamn full, Ronan. So full.”

“More bacon?” Ronan asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, give me some more. Jesus, I feel like... I don't even know. Like I could just keep eating forever even though it hurts.”

“I could watch you forever.”

Adam paused, a strip of bacon half in his mouth. “What the hell are we doing, Ronan?”

Ronan gave an expansive shrug. “Weird kinky quarantine shit? Here – there's some eggs left.”

“I'm gonna burst,” Adam said. 

“No, you're not.”

Adam shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth, slouched over his plate as if he couldn't sit up straight. “Think I'm gonna have to skip my next class. Nap this off.”

“I'm making tacos for lunch,” Ronan said. 

“Oh god,” Adam groaned. 

+

A week or so later, Adam came downstairs wearing a pair of Ronan's sweatpants low on his hips. 

“You stealing my clothes?” Ronan said appreciatively, turning from the stove to survey him.

“Couldn't zip my pants,” Adam said, and Ronan got a little weak-kneed. 

“Maybe you should lay off the late-night brownies,” Ronan said. 

“Maybe you ought to stop baking so damn much,” Adam retorted. 

“Sit down,” Ronan said, pointing his spatula to the table. “I made pancakes.”

Adam ate ten of them, smothered in butter and maple syrup, eight sausage links on the side. Ronan was clear on the numbers because he counted. As was his new habit, Adam started off quietly but towards the end he complained with every bite. “Ronan, I can't eat another one. Fine, one more. All right, one more. I can't get my jeans on anyway, another piece of sausage isn't going to make much difference.”

During his morning classes, Ronan brought him a glass of milk and a tray of warm chocolate chip cookies, then kept ducking his head into the living room to peek while Adam plowed through them. Every time their eyes met, Adam would flush and shoo him away, and finally Ronan had to take himself upstairs and jerk off to the image of Adam on a video screen, his mouth always full. What did his classmates think? Did they notice that his gaunt cheeks were filling out? Did they notice how much he was eating? 

On his lunch break, Adam lay on the couch next to the empty tray of cookies and Ronan rubbed his belly, feeling it gurgle unhappily beneath his palm. It was firm and slightly rounded, and Ronan was getting hard again imagining it growing under his hand, getting rounder. 

“Think you could handle a sandwich?” he said. “Roast beef and cheese?”

“Yeah,” Adam sighed. “Gotta have a light dinner, though. I can't keep eating like this. It's – it's out of control.”

Ronan didn't answer, just went into the kitchen to put together Adam's lunch, piling the thick bread high with meat and cheese, buttering the bread, liberal with the mayonnaise. He cut it into four pieces and Adam hoisted himself up against the arm of the couch when he came back into the living room. He looked pink-faced and uncomfortable, beads of sweat on his temples. 

“Oh, Ronan,” he said. “That thing's like five inches thick.”

Ronan leered at him. “I think you can take it. Move your legs.”

Adam let Ronan lift his legs so he could settle them across his lap, getting as close to Adam as he could. He gave Adam's hot belly a gentle push with his knuckles and Adam let out a long sigh. 

“Truly,” he said. “I'm still so damn full. Can barely move my arms.”

Ronan kissed him, long and hot, and when they pulled apart, he replaced his mouth against Adam's with a quarter of the sandwich. Adam bit obligingly, letting Ronan feed him quickly, almost too quickly, his mouth barely emptied before another bite was being pushed into it. By the time the sandwich was gone, Adam was moaning on every outbreath and his hard cock was snug in Ronan's caressing hand. He swallowed the last bite and came, shuddering, then had no energy to do anything other than kiss Ronan gently and fall instantly asleep, curled onto his side, posture protective around his belly. 

Ronan didn't wake him for his afternoon classes, just let him sleep, checking on him every so often while he made dinner. In deference to Adam's painfully stuffed state, he did keep dinner light, a simple spaghetti and meatballs, and didn't press when Adam finished his first serving and then pushed the plate away. 

He rose from the table to start clearing dishes and Adam said, “Well, this is new. You're not going to give me more?”

Ronan turned immediately. “Do you want more?”

Adam's hand was resting carefully across his belly. “No,” he said. “I'm immensely full.”

Ronan tried to read the situation. He ventured, “I know you can handle another meatball, at least.”

“I can't,” Adam said baldly, staring Ronan in the eye. “I'm – I'm putting on weight, admit it. Gotta stop before it gets out of hand.”

Ronan turned to the stove and dished up another full plate of spaghetti, settled three big meatballs atop the pasta and ladled sauce. Slowly he walked over to Adam and straddled his lap. “You should stop,” he agreed, nudging Adam's mouth with a bite of meatball. 

“You're doing this to me,” Adam said, chewing, and opened his mouth for another bite. Ronan could feel his erection pressed up against Ronan's own hardening dick. 

“Oh,” Ronan said. “I'm the one eating enough for three people?”

“Your cooking is too good,” Adam said. 

“But you don't see me shoveling down food until I can't move, do you?”

Adam's hands rose and gripped Ronan's own trim waist, his fingers pulling on the strings of the apron Ronan was wearing. He couldn't answer, his mouth was too full. He pushed his hands up under Ronan's shirt and ran his fingers over the flat planes of muscle he found there. Ronan moved even closer, resettling himself on Adam's lap until he could feel the gentle push of Adam's belly against his own torso. The angle was harder, now, but he managed to get another enormous bite through Adam's lips. 

Adam was chewing with his mouth open, which meant he was so full he was having trouble catching his breath. Ronan could see the fast, shallow rise of his chest as he struggled to breath around the fullness of his belly, and he must be as crazy as everyone said, because the sight turned him on so much he nearly went blind with it. 

Adam had started moving against him, grinding into him, and by the time the second plate of pasta was finished he had come from friction alone, a stain spreading across the crotch of his sweatpants. He jerked Ronan off in his weak, food-drunk grip, and afterwards he let Ronan clean them both off with a damp paper towel, paying careful attention to the tomato sauce across Adam's cheek. 

“Messy,” Ronan said, tutting. 

“Kinky quarantine shit,” Adam murmured. “Right?”

Ronan growled and bit his neck.


	4. Chapter 4

Adam woke each morning to an empty bed. Ronan was always up before him, tending to the farm and then preparing whatever decadent breakfast he planned to feed Adam. Today, a Saturday, he had gone into town and wouldn't be back until late afternoon. It was in these moments, alone, that Adam felt most unsure of – of whatever it was they were doing. With each other. To his body. 

Today he woke to a dull throb of indigestion, and rolled over to shake a few Tums out of the container Ronan had started leaving beside his bed with a glass of water. It couldn't be good for him, he thought, putting so much food into his body day after day. He was still quite bloated from the previous night's excess, his belly pushing outwards over the tight band of his boxers, and when he stood and pulled on a t-shirt he realized his shirts, too, were getting ever-so-slightly snug. When he looked in the mirror he could see the swell of his swollen stomach, flush against the formerly-loose material. His boxers bit into hips that had begun to flare slightly, and the fabric was bunched around his ass in a way entirely unfamiliar. 

Adam had never been anything other than slender. Too slender, in fact, he knew that. He still felt like the same too-thin boy he'd always been, but the person he saw in the mirror wasn't too thin, not by any means. The person in the mirror could turn to the side and Adam could follow the subtle curve of his bloated belly, the outward swell of an ass that seemed to be growing. The person in the mirror didn't have dark hollows in his cheeks. 

“I've gotta stop this,” Adam murmured. He tucked a hand up beneath his t-shirt and stroked the stretched-out skin around his navel, feeling ashamed and indulgent and out-of-control in a way that scared him as much as it turned him on. 

Ronan would be gone for most of the day, he thought, tugging up the sweatpants he'd commandeered from Ronan's drawer. It was a good day to take it easy, to give his body a break from the heady, relentless barrage of food, let his stomach settle back down. He'd drink a lot of water today, he decided. He'd eat only vegetables. He'd refuse whatever treat Ronan was sure to bring him from town. 

The mere thought of Ronan bringing a treat, however, was enough to get him interested, and he palmed his wayward cock in irritation, urging it downward. They'd been having sex for years now and he'd always enjoyed it, had always been turned on by Ronan, but lately it felt so electric between them that even the sight of Ronan's shoes by the door nearly brought him to his knees.

He padded down to the kitchen and confronted the fact that, apparently, baked goods turned him on as well, because the kitchen table held donuts, cinnamon rolls, and a coffee cake, and the smell of butter and cinnamon had Adam getting hard in his pilfered sweatpants. There was no note; of course there wasn't. 

Adam stood over the table, inhaling the yeasty sugary smell and trying to control himself. He was going to eat lightly today. He'd have a couple hard-boiled eggs and nothing more for breakfast, what was the point of stuffing his face if Ronan wasn't there to appreciate it? He had excellent self-control, he always had. No matter how good those cinnamon rolls looked, Adam wasn't going to eat one. 

Or anyway, he wasn't going to eat more than one. 

Feeling strong and righteous, he levered one of the sticky, dripping rolls onto a plate and poured himself a tall glass of milk. He sat at the kitchen table and began pulling the roll apart with his fingers, savoring the soft dough, the caremelized sticky insides, the thick cream cheese glaze that pooled on his plate. It was stupid how good it tasted. 

It was gone too soon, and Adam gripped his own hands together in his lap, willing himself to get up, to go outside, to take a walk, get some exercise, but his eyes were glued on the donuts. They looked incredible, dusted in cinnamon sugar, and they weren't very big, all things considered. He could have just one. No more than one. 

Adam put a donut on his plate. He put the donut in his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Adam said, to no one. The donut was sheer perfection, fried crispy on the outside and melt-in-your-mouth on the inside, lightly spiced with nutmeg and vanilla. As soon as he started eating it, he missed it. Had food always tasted so good? Or was his recent appetite a combination of world-chaos and the chaos of Ronan's presence? And maybe some of his own internal chaos, too, if he was being honest. A breakdown of his internal barriers. Was it bad? Was it wrong? He had to stop. 

But first, he had to try that coffee cake.

“What are you doing, Parrish?” he asked himself, almost despairingly, as he cut himself a huge hunk of buttery cake and let it fall to his plate. “Get up. Get up and walk away.”

The cake was incredible, so crumbly and rich he moaned as he ate it. By then he realized it was too late, he'd promised himself to go light and instead he'd had three pastries for breakfast – so it didn't matter if he had another cinnamon roll, and another two donuts, and some more cake, and then some more cake, and then he took the entire pan with him into the living room and ate the rest of it on the couch, so he could half-recline as he did so. 

It was hard going, eating an entire 8x8 pan of coffee cake on top of two cinnamon rolls and two donuts. He had to lie down afterwards, his belly gurgling and round, his head pounding from the onslaught of sugar, afraid that a sudden movement would spike his nausea. He gulped air, one hand resting on his throbbing stomach, the other still curled around the cake fork. 

Fuck, he was so, so full. He'd put on enough weight to grow out of a size of pants – enough weight that he'd left his former “slender” weight bracket and was now solidly “average,” and what came after average? Whatever it was, he was headed for it. 

He managed to lever himself up enough to jerk off, wincing as tiny grains of sugar rolled rough in his palms against his rock-hard cock. Ronan wasn't even here and still Adam had eaten himself sick with arousal. He felt so full, so indulged, so unrestrained, so embarrassed. 

It was too much to contend with, his fullness and his shame both, so to escape the dual discomforts, he closed his eyes, and went to sleep. 

He woke to the smell of garlic, and the touch of Ronan's hand slipping beneath his shirt to trace gentle circles on his side. 

“Mmm,” he said, groggy. “Time 'sit?”

“Around one,” Ronan said. “Parrish. Did you eat that whole cake?”

“Yeah,” Adam said. 

There was a long, heavy silence, and Adam opened his eyes, woke up all the way. Ronan was sitting beside him on the couch, looking at him with a heady mixture of awe and attraction that made Adam smile, almost. Until he saw what Ronan was holding.

A pizza box. 

“I can't,” Adam said.

“You can,” Ronan said. “You don't even have to move, okay? Just stay there and open your mouth.”

“I ate a whole cake for breakfast,” Adam said. “And donuts. Cinnamon rolls. Plural.” He closed his eyes again. “My fucking boxers are getting too tight, Ronan.”

“Yeah,” Ronan said. “I can see that. This t-shirt's gonna be too tight soon, too. So it won't matter if we get it greasy. Here, open up.”

Obediently, Adam opened his mouth. He let Ronan feed him a slice of pepperoni pizza, overcome with the pleasure of the savory, the salty, in contrast to the incredible amount of sugar he'd had a few hours ago. His belly felt impossibly tight beneath Ronan's caress, and he pushed up into the touch. “Feel like I'm gonna pop,” he mumbled, chewing a bite of crust dipped in garlic butter. 

“You're pretty fucking full,” Ronan agreed, rolling his knuckles across the curve of Adam's stomach. “I can feel it.” His hand slipped downard to grip Adam's cock. “Full here, too.”

“Yeah,” Adam groaned. He'd taken the second slice of pizza in his hands and was chewing it as Ronan attended to him, the cheese rich and still melty-hot, the pepperoni crisp and meaty. His third slice dripped garlic butter as he dunked it and brought it to his mouth, surrendering to the rhythm of Ronan's handjob and the hazy messiness of being too full to care. 

“You're getting rounder with every bite,” Ronan said. “What's that, your fourth piece? Yeah, good, keep going. If you want me to go faster, you gotta eat faster.”

“Oh shit, Ronan,” Adam panted, thrusting against the friction of Ronan's palm, choking down his fourth slice so he could grab a fifth, sauce on his fingers, grease smearing his chin. He tore into it, shoving it into his mouth and swallowing as fast as he could so Ronan would pick up the pace, and sure enough, the hand wrapped around his cock began jerking him faster, faster, slowing as he paused to gasp for air and tear his sixth slice free from the box, slowing again as he let out an enormous, painful belch, then speeding as he began chewing again. 

It was exquisite, the pain, the hunger, the way he kept riding the edge of coming but not quite getting there, how Ronan's hand paused every time he himself paused until Adam was almost crying with pleasure and frustration and fullness, until the pizza box was empty and Adam was breathing so shallowly he thought he might pass out, until finally, finally Ronan began to jerk him in earnest, fast and rhythmic and unstopping, and Adam came with a scream that sounded like a sob. 

It was just about two o'clock in the afternoon. 

Ronan jerked himself off next, though Adam was too dazed to enjoy the spectacle, and then he went and got a warm washcloth and rubbed it lovingly over Adam's inner thighs. He laid another warm towel across the pulsing hot pain of his round belly, pushing Adam's t-shirt up his chest to get better access. Gently, Ronan tweaked a nipple.

“Getting softer, here,” he said, stroking the surrounding pec. 

God, could that be true? Adam didn't have the energy to look down. All his concentration was going to keeping himself from getting nauseous. He was a mess, covered in pizza sauce and oil, a fallen pepperoni resting on his chest, though even as he noticed it, Ronan folded it tenderly into his panting mouth, where it lay on his tongue for a while until Adam got up the will to chew and swallow. 

“I can't keep eating like this,” he moaned. “I can't, Ronan.”

“Why not?” Ronan said, in his infuriating way. 

“Look at me,” Adam said desperately. 

“Oh,” Ronan said. “I'm looking.”

Adam sipped air and let out a small, unsatisfying burp that did nothing to lessen the pain of his belly. 

“Gonna dream you some new boxers,” Ronan said, running his fingers over the red lines on Adam's hips. “New jeans.”

“Dream me a new fucking stomach,” Adam said. 

“No way,” Ronan said, giving said stomach a squeeze. “I like this one.” He was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Does it hurt or does it feel good? To be this full?”

“It hurts like hell,” Adam said, and then, “But I don't know, Ronan, yeah, it feels good, too. Feels... amazing. And horrible.”

“Gonna dream you new pants,” Ronan said again, kissing the crest of Adam's bloated stomach. “Gonna dream you whatever you want.”

\+ 

True to his word, a few nights later Ronan dreamed Adam a set of boxers and jeans, in a kind of wonderful fabric that looked exactly like denim but was softer somehow, stretchier. Adam hated how badly he needed them, hated how his old boxers were so tight around his hips that they almost cut him, hated how he couldn't even pull up his old jeans. They'd been in quarantine for a little under two months, the spring semester was nearly over, and it felt like suddenly all Adam's indulgence, all the eating, the hours spent stuffing himself, were catching up to him at once. Suddenly, he was really piling on weight. 

He knew it wasn't actually sudden at all – knew it had been happening since he'd gotten to the Barns, but only recently was his gain really starting to be noticeable, unignorable. His t-shirts had started to stretch over the swell of his belly, his navel a clear divot beneath the cloth, and his chest was starting to look softer, doughier. His ass was spreading along with his thighs, which had started to touch gently when he walked, a completely unfamiliar and strangely erotic feeling. He found himself touching his belly often throughout the day, always so surprised by its presence, the way it bowed out when he sat down, how he had to pull his jeans below its lower curve each morning.

In his Zoom classes, his face in its little video square seemed a bit softer, especially under his chin and around his jawline. He wondered if his classmates had noticed, if they watched him eat platefuls of cookies and mounds of brownies and slice after slice of pie each day, and laughed at him. 

He came downstairs one morning, sleepy and hungry and bloated from a midnight stack of grilled cheeses, resolved – as he was every morning – to cut back today. He found Ronan pulling a blueberry pie from the oven. 

“Smells good,” Adam said, mouth watering, and Ronan turned to him, then froze. He was staring, his gaze pure lascivious hunger. “What?” Adam said, looking down at himself. His t-shirt had ridden up slightly, leaving an inch or so of lower belly exposed, and self-consciously, Adam started to tug it down, but Ronan said, voice low and graveled, “No.”

Adam dropped his hands. Ronan came towards him, then thumbed at a strip of soft skin by Adam's hip. “You've got a stretchmark,” he said finally.

“Jesus,” Adam said, peering down. “Do I?

He did. Small, pink, unmistakable. He swallowed, touching his belly uncertainly. Weight, he could lose, but this was permanent. A scar. 

Ronan, however, was bending down, putting his mouth to that small pink mark, tonguing its edges, tasting it. He gripped Adam's waist and manhandled him against the counter, pressing his lithe, muscled body against Adam's softening form. Adam could feel his own belly pressing roundly into Ronan's flat one as Ronan wrapped an arm around Adam's neck and kissed him, his free hand still stroking the stretchmark. 

“You did that to me,” Adam said, as Ronan kissed down his jawline. “You put that mark there.”

“You're blaming me?” Ronan said. “I'm not the one who's gonna eat an entire fucking pie for breakfast.”

“Well, I'm certainly not,” said Adam. 

“With ice cream,” Ronan said. 

“I don't know if I can fit a whole pie in here,” Adam said, tapping his belly. “I'm still full from last night.”

“Right,” Ronan said, and propelled Adam gently towards a kitchen chair. Adam sank down into it, feeling the strange new sensation of his belly pushing outward as he sat, his t-shirt riding up again. He pulled it down, uselessly. If he was going to eat a pie, the shirt would never stay down. Was he really going to outgrow his shirts as well as his pants? Was he really going to let that happen? 

Ronan put the pie on the table with a carton of ice cream and a fork. Adam leaned forward to start his breakfast.


	5. Chapter 5

“Ronan,” Gansey said, voice low over the weak computer speakers. “Is Adam – I mean, it's difficult to tell over the internet, and I might be imagining things but – he looks – very – uh – healthy?”

Ronan grinned at Gansey's awkward stumbling. It was a Monday, Adam's classes had been over for a few weeks, and the three of them had been on a video call for the past hour. Adam had just stepped away to go to the bathroom. “He's healthy, all right.”

“I meant --”

“I know what you meant, Dick. And yeah. You're not imagining it.”

Gansey made an expression that managed to settle halfway between impressed and confused. “I suppose lots of people are putting on some weight, locked in their houses, but I admit it's quite hard for me to imagine Adam Parrish, of all people...” Gansey trailed off as Adam came back into the room. 

“Adam Parrish of all people what?” Adam said, settling back at Ronan's side on the couch with a huff of breath. 

“Trapped in the Barns for the summer with no papers to write,” Gansey said smoothly, and Ronan smirked. He was tracking Adam with a critical, removed eye, trying to see what Gansey saw. He watched as his boyfriend tugged down the t-shirt that had rucked up with his movement and then leaned back to stretch out a little, trying to give his belly some room. In the video window, the upper curve of it was very clear; it was very clear that Adam's stomach was no longer flat. It was still bloated, Ronan knew, from his breakfast of waffles, but Gansey wouldn't know that. To Gansey it would look simply... big. 

And the truth was, Adam's belly was getting big, even when it wasn't stuffed full. He was starting to look truly thick, his sides beginning to crease just a little, his arms just a tiny bit doughier, his ass getting rounder, thighs getting thicker, jawline softer. 

Ronan forced himself to re-focus on the conversation, because looking at Adam for too long made him want to reach over and touch him, stroke his fingers over the taut skin of his upper belly and squeeze the new softness of his chest. 

Gansey was, thank god, saying his goodbyes. As soon as his face disappeared off the screen, Ronan slammed the computer shut and turned to sling a leg over Adam, straddling his lap and leaning down to kiss him. 

“Oof, careful,” Adam murmured into his mouth. “I'm still full.”

“I can feel it,” Ronan said, pressing his flat torso against Adam's rounding one. Suddenly he couldn't believe it, how much weight Adam must've put on to look like this. Twenty pounds? Thirty? In a matter of months. He ran his hands down Adam's sides, feeling the little roll at his hips and the way his belly was starting to swell out sideways as well as frontwards. “Jesus. This isn't just fullness.”

Adam flushed bright pink. “No.” 

“You're kind of packing it on, Parrish.”

Adam swallowed. “Yeah.”

“You want some fucking ice cream, or what?”

Adam sputtered a surprised laugh. “I could eat.”

Ronan rolled off him and went to the kitchen to grab the tub of cookie dough ice cream he'd bought yesterday, pausing to microwave a jar of hot fudge. He found Adam leaning back on the couch cushions, absentmindedly digging the heel of his hand into his underbelly, his t-shirt riding up almost to his belly button. 

“You trying to make room?” Ronan asked him, climbing back onto the couch. 

“Losing battle,” Adam said, and hoisted himself into more of a sitting position.

“You wanna feed yourself, or you want me to do the honors?”

“I'll do it,” Adam said, and grinned. “I'd rather you have your hands free.”

The ice cream went down easy at first, Adam spooning hot fudge directly from the jar into the ice cream container and then loading up big, chocolately bites as Ronan unzipped his pants, worked his boxers down from his hips, sucked kisses into the new meat of his inner thighs. Adam ate ice cream slowly as Ronan teased his cock with little licks and moments of brief suction interspersed with kisses, and then they both started to speed up. It had become a routine, Adam eating while Ronan sucked him off, and it should have be boring by now, but it really, really wasn't. 

Ronan could tell now when Adam was really getting full, when he was reaching his limit. His breath got shallow and his face got a little sweaty, and he started moving around more, trying to get comfortable against the pain of being stuffed. 

One of the things Ronan loved about being down here was the changing landscape, how Adam's belly had started to nudge its way into Ronan's space, how Ronan's head pressed into it now as he moved on Adam's cock. He took his mouth away for long enough to bite a kiss into his newest stretchmark, creeping up the side curve of Adam's stomach, and he could feel how tight and full Adam was, how his skin was stretched by all the food he'd already put into it that day. Several waffles, butter, maple syrup, a pile of bacon, a mound of cheesy eggs, hashbrowns, and now, just a couple hours later, ice cream and hot fudge. He was tightest at the top, but his underbelly was softer, rounder, and Ronan laved his tongue over the softness there. He didn't even have to push Adam's shirt up to do it – it had ridden up of its own accord, nearly to Adam's chest. 

“God, Ronan, please,” Adam gasped, thrusting his hips a little against the lack of friction.

“You stopped eating,” Ronan said. 

“I'm so goddamn full.” Adam was wheezing, trying to get air, so full his lungs were compressed. He'd slumped back against the couch cushions, holding the container of ice cream to his chest, resting it against the top of his belly, and Ronan saw with a jolt of desire that it wasn't outside the realm of the imagination to think that someday Adam would be able to use his stomach as a little shelf. 

“Take another bite,” Ronan said. “With fudge.”

Adam groaned, but he loaded his spoon and shoved it messily into his mouth, which was already sticky from chocolate. He went back for more without Ronan's prompting, so Ronan bent his head again and swallowed Adam's cock down, finding the rhythm he knew Adam loved and sticking to it. 

After they both got off, Ronan cleaned them up and went to fetch a hot water bottle for Adam's poor, strained belly. He came back to find Adam with one arm wrapped around his stomach, panting a little, while he drank the melted remains of the ice cream. 

“Fuck, Parrish,” Ronan said. 

Adam wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and looked a little sheepish. “Didn't,” he paused, breathing carefully, “want to waste, it.”

“Fuck,” Ronan repeated, because it seemed impossible but his dick was already twitching again. 

“Gimme, that,” Adam panted, gesturing to the hot water bottle, and he snugged it carefully against the curve of his underbelly. “Ugh. God I'm, so full.”

Ronan sat at his side and began scratching gentle, smooth circles around the ballooned skin. “You've gotten lazy, you know that? Been on this couch since you woke up.”

“Been too, full, to do, anything else.”

“What's it feel like?”

“Hurts,” Adam said. “Feels like I'm, being stretched out from the, inside. Couldn't suck it in, even if I, tried. My abs are, fucking gone.”

“What else?”

Adam shifted, burping softly. “Oof. Feels... I feel... big.”

“Gansey noticed,” Ronan said, and was rewarded with a deeper flush on Adam's already food-flushed cheeks. 

“He did?”

“Yeah. Asked me if he was imagining things.”

Adam looked down at himself, and when he did so, a little pad of softness cushioned his chin. He stroked his own belly gently, then put a hand over one of his pecs, assessing. Ronan knew what he was feeling, a newly peaky softness that wasn't quite big enough to cup in a hand but maybe wasn't that far off. 

“Goddamn,” Adam groaned. “Can't believe...” He trailed off, sighing out another painful-sounding burp, then another. “Oh, god. How'd I let myself get this...”

Ronan waited but Adam didn't finish the sentence, so he reached out and brushed the hair back from Adam's forehead. 

“'S your fault,” Adam told him, smiling. 

“Me?” Ronan echoed, falling into the familiar dialogue. “Am I the one who ate so much ice cream I couldn't get off the couch?”

“I could get off, the couch,” Adam protested, speech still halting as he fought for air. “I'm choosing not to.”

“Like you chose to drink the rest of that?” Ronan said, gesturing to the empty container dropped at Adam's side. 

“Gimme one more, bite of hot fudge,” Adam said. 

“You're so full you can barely get out a goddamn sentence,” Ronan said, deliciously scandalized.

“One more.”

Ronan did as Adam asked, feeding him a goopy, rich bite of hot fudge from the discarded jar. He watched as Adam swallowed it with what looked like difficulty, then let out a shallow sigh. 

“Now kiss me,” Adam directed, and Ronan didn't have to be told twice.


	6. Chapter 6

The quarantine technically ended, but Harvard made the decision to suspend in-person classes through the next year and go exclusively online. It wasn't what Adam would have imagined for his senior year, but when the news was announced in late June, his first reaction was delight that he wouldn't have to leave Ronan again. His second reaction was, “Good. Time enough for me to lose some of this before I have to see anyone but you.”

Ronan raised an eyebrow. “That what you're gonna do?”

“Yeah,” Adam said, resolutely. They were on a walk across the Barns' green hills, hadn't gone far but already Adam's t-shirt was dark under the arms with sweat and was a little out of breath. The shirt was way too small, anyway; Adam had given up on tugging it down and the the hem now rested comfortably just below Adam's belly button, and the sleeves were tight around his upper arms. He hadn't been walking much lately, god knew, and the exercise was driving home how big he was getting. He could feel his ass jiggle with each step, thighs rubbing together, belly dragging him forward heavily, like carrying around a full backpack on his front. The dream pants weren't so loose and comfortable anymore. 

“All right,” Ronan said. “We'll have salad for dinner.”

“Good,” Adam said. “Hey, can we sit for a minute?”

They sat beneath a tree, Ronan graceful, Adam clumsy, his new weight throwing off his balance. He sat heavily and leaned back against the trunk, resting a hand on his own round tummy and adjusting his waistband with the other hand. He tried to draw his knees up to his chest, but found there was too much belly in the way to make it entirely comfortable, so he splayed them out before him. 

Fuck, he'd put on so much weight, so quickly. 

“Can we order a scale?” he said. 

“Yes,” Ronan said, his eyes suddenly bright and interested. 

Adam pressed a palm to his side. “I want to know the damage.”

“It doesn't look like damage from where I'm sitting,” Ronan said. 

“You know what I mean. What do you think?”

“Fifty pounds, maybe?” Ronan said. 

“Fifty?” Adam squawked. “That much? It's only been four months. I was thinking... I don't know, twenty-five, thirty at the outset?”

Ronan gave him a flatly amused look. “Maybe.”

“Do I look like I've put on fifty pounds?”

“Is that a trick question?”

Adam readjusted the hem of his too-small t-shirt, feeling flushed and embarrassed and turned-on. “Well, either way, you've gotta dream me some new t-shirts. However many pounds I've gained, they aren't fitting in these anymore.”

“Noted.”

Adam sighed, suddenly tired, and lay down on his back to put his head in Ronan's lap. Ronan traced a thumb over his cheekbones and then floated down to stroke one of his nipples, sitting on a pudgy, peaked mound. 

“Mm,” Adam commented, drowsy. Birds were singing, insects buzzing, the sun a hot glow in a blue sky. Ronan's fingers slipped from his chest to his side, pinching the soft, incipient roll that was starting to extend around to his back. 

It was so strange, to feel the ways he was getting bigger. Mostly it was odd and uncomfortable, but there were some moments – moments like this, or when Ronan curled around him in bed, hand cupped tenderly across his belly – that he genuinely liked it. Liked his own softness, the evidence of months of gluttony written clear on his formerly gaunt frame. It made him feel strangely safe in ways he couldn't have anticipated.

“You bring any snacks?” he yawned. 

“Thought you were suddenly on a diet or some shit.”

“Well, did you or didn't you?”

There was a rustle and then the sound of Ronan unzipping his bag. “Got gummi worms, chocolate chip cookies, and Doritos.”

“Gummi worms,” Adam said, and Ronan fed them to him like a mother bird, dangling them above his lips and lowering them down until the bag was gone. It was slow, sweet, unhurried, and for once it didn't feel like an endpoint to sex. Ronan switched to cookies when the worms ran out, breaking them into pieces and poking them gently through Adam's lips, and Adam enjoyed the flavors and the feeling of the cookies settling in his belly, bringing him back to the fullness he'd gotten used to. 

There were a lot of cookies, he realized, after it had gone on for some time – probably a whole batch. He should stop, he didn't need to be this stuffed so far from the house, but they tasted so good and he could feel his stomach tightening pleasantly beneath his hand. He sipped air, letting out a series of small, satisfying burps, and Ronan chuckled from somewhere above him. By that time Adam's eyes had slipped closed.

By the time the cookies were finished, the sun was lower in the sky and Adam had turned onto his side, head still pillowed on Ronan's leg, his belly supported by the cool earth. It was harder to eat this way, but he managed, crunching Doritos contentedly until he heard the crackle of plastic as Ronan crumpled the bag up and pressed orange-dusted fingers between Adam's lips for him to suck clean. 

“You satisfied, Parrish?” Ronan said, stroking his flank, rubbing his belly. 

“Yeah,” Adam sighed.

“You like being full,” Ronan said. “You like being pinned down by your gluttony, packed tight, too tight.”

“I do,” Adam admitted. 

“You really think you're gonna cut back?” Ronan said. “I don't think your appetite can handle a diet.”

Adam let himself imagine it, really imagine it. No more lazy feedings. No more delicious, rich food, as much as he wanted and more, no more gagging himself on cake while Ronan gagged on his cock, no more late-night snacks eaten while tucked into Ronan's side in bed, no more of this look in Ronan's eye, this focused, frenzied look that Adam found sexier than just about anything in the universe.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, watching and feeling the way his belly rounded out, kissing the tops of his thighs. No more feeling achy and swollen and afraid of his own excess and lack of control, no more avoiding mirrors, no more moments in the shower where he ran his hands across his body cataloguing changes, shocked by what he found.

“I don't know,” he said. “Spring semester's a while away, anyway. I don't have to start tonight.”

Ronan reached out and palmed his belly like it was a basketball. “What do you want for dinner, then?”

“Pasta,” Adam said. “Alfredo, maybe.”

“The bread will be ready by then, too,” Ronan said, stroking Adam's exposed underbelly with a firm hand. It felt good. Those snacks were sitting heavy. “Was gonna make a lemon pound cake, too.”

He stood up and reached down to haul Adam to his feet, grunting a little as he took his weight and then steadying him as Adam stumbled a step, a little hazy from sun and food, his cookie-heavy belly knocking him off balance. 

“Jesus,” Adam said, blushing. “Not used to this yet.”

Ronan grabbed his hand. “I got you,” he said. 

+

The scale came ten days later, and Adam insisted they wait to use it until the following morning. He wanted to know what his baseline weight was, not his weight after he'd eaten half a lasagna for lunch. 

He knew Ronan was excited, his eyes glittery and manic, and he woke the next morning to Ronan's morning wood snugged neatly between his ass cheeks, Ronan's arm tossed over him, hand splayed possessively across Adam's gut. 

That was the word for it, too, Adam thought, as he stretched tentatively. Gut. He was getting the body of a middle-aged man who drank too much beer. Or the body of a young man who ate too much of everything. 

“Morning,” Ronan said, rutting up against him, and Adam turned his head to be kissed. His gut gave a low gurgle as he did so, the protest of a disgruntled dog who didn't want to move. Adam patted it soothingly and hauled himself up against the headboard, reaching for the Tums and crunching into their comforting chalkiness. Ronan came up with him, hand still resting on his belly, stroking its broad slope. Adam arched his back into the touch, instinctively pushing his sensitive gut into Ronan's hand, seeking pressure. 

“Okay,” he said. “Ready to see how much weight you've put on me?”

“Fucking born ready,” Ronan said, leaping from the bed in a single, naked bound. It took Adam a moment longer, but soon they'd both tugged on boxers – though Adam lately had to roll his waistband down to make his comfortable – and padded into the bathroom, where the scale sat gleaming. 

“All right,” Adam said with some trepidation, and moved towards it.

“Wait,” Ronan said, “how much did you weigh before – before you came here?”

Adam cast his mind back. He'd had a physical over the winter, but it seemed like years ago. “155, I think,” he said. 

Ronan gestured for him to continue, and Adam poked a toe onto the scale, waited for the numbers to settle before he stepped on. He and Ronan both waited, breath held with anticipation, as the red numbers formed and settled. 

“Holy shit,” Adam breathed. He stepped from the scale, stepped back on. “No.”

“Told you,” Ronan said, sounding far more thrilled than smug. 

“No, you said fifty pounds,” Adam said. “I'm 215. That's – that's sixty fucking pounds, Ronan. In five months. Jesus christ.” He fisted his hands in his hair. 

“You're eating like ten thousand calories a day, what'd you expect?” Ronan said, pressing himself against Adam, bare torso to bare torso, his hands bracketing the round belly that pushed between them. 

“Yeah, but – but I --”

“Bet you're hungry right now.”

Adam scowled, but truthfully, yeah, he was. “Gimme a second to process this, will you?”

“You couldn't tell?” Ronan said curiously. 

“I mean, I'm not an idiot, I know I've gained a fair amount of weight, but... I don't know.” 

He left the bathroom to go stand in front of the full-length mirror in their bedroom, something he hadn't done for several months, afraid of what he'd see looking back at him. Which was: himself, visibly sixty pounds heavier. Adam Parrish, but soft-faced, pudgy-chested, too-tight boxers climbing up between thick thighs, with a round, firm belly that made him look about six months pregnant. He fingered the thick rolls forming at his hips, the crease there, cupped the pecs that were beginning to form a roll above his gut, then turned around to look at how the crease of fat at his waist was extending around to his back. From the side he traced the pushed-out bow of his belly and the answering curve of his fatter ass, grimacing as he readjusted the waistband of his boxers, trying to make more room for the thick circle of his underbelly. His stomach stood out proudly, no trace of sagging except for the hint of softness at the very bottom, the way his lower belly was ever-so-slightly pudgier than the top. 

Ronan stood behind him, watching him watch himself. 

“I'm getting fat,” Adam said finally.

“Yeah,” agreed Ronan. 

“Do you – do you like this?”

Ronan gave him a withering glare. 

“Okay,” Adam conceded, “fine, I know you do, but – but --”

Ronan stepped forward and Adam watched the two of them in the mirror, Ronan all broad, lean muscle, features sharp as glass, and Adam looking uncomfortably swollen and round, his edges blurred by extra weight. The contrast sent a hot, shamed zing of arousal through him. 

“You want me to tell you what I like about this?” Ronan asked, cradling Adam's belly gently in two hands and then leaning forward to kiss him, with a gentleness Adam knew took effort. “I like how goddamn soft your skin is, how soft you've gotten all over. I like how you lose control when I feed you, how you'll eat and eat until you can't move and then you'll eat some more. I love how much it turns you on, eating like that. I love seeing the evidence of our kinky goddamn sex life all over your body. Every one of these pounds reminds me of all the times I've made you come. I love how once you start stuffing yourself, you can't stop.” He paused, pulling Adam closer, still with that same controlled gentleness, like a tiger trying not to bite. “That's how I feel about you, you understand that? Once I started loving you, I couldn't stop. And I won't. Whatever you wanna do, I'm into it. If this bugs you, I'll help you lose it. If it doesn't bug you...” Ronan trailed off, palming one of Adam's pudgy, sensitive pecs. “Well, if it doesn't bug you, I'll take you downstairs and shove eclairs into your mouth until you can't breathe.”

Despite himself, Adam groaned. “Fuck, Ronan...”

“What do you want to do?” Ronan said, his touch on Adam's thick sides featherlight. 

Adam looked once more at his reflection, at his blown pupils and chunky ass and the long, thin pink stretchmark that had recently appeared striping up the round side of his belly. He looked at Ronan, who was looking at him. 

“I want eclairs,” Adam said. 

Ronan delivered a ringing slap to his butt. “Then get the fuck downstairs, Parrish.”

+

Adam took to weighing himself every day, though he didn't tell Ronan about it. There was something so compelling about watching the numbers tick up, and up; it helped drive home that this wasn't going to slow down, not if he kept eating as he had been. He'd gained five pounds just in the first week and a half of monitoring himself and had put on another five by the end of July, so when August rolled around he was 225 and had gained a jaw-dropping seventy pounds since the winter. 

Now that he was paying attention, he could really feel each one of those new ten pounds, feel and see them. His belly was definitely rounder, he thought, and so was his chest, settled into two handfuls that were beginning to sit on his gut like lumps of dough. He eyed himself in a new t-shirt Ronan had dreamed him. Dressed, his belly was obviously round, and even his new bigger t-shirt showcased the deepened dimple of his navel, and his ass looked unmistakably fatter, but he still didn't look like anything more than a college kid who'd hit the dining hall too hard, right? A few pounds past thick, nothing more. 

“Looking kinda big these days, Parrish,” Ronan said, the morning Adam hit 230. They were in the kitchen, Adam hunched over what had once been a giant stack of chocolate chip pancakes and was now a much smaller stack, his belly resting on the tops of his thighs. “Think you might have put on a few pounds.”

“Fifteen since we weighed me,” Adam said, letting out a hard sigh. He pushed carefully on the side of his aching tummy, trying to judge how much more he could fit. “We have any more of that oreo ice cream? Be good on these.”

“Fifteen pounds,” Ronan repeated, as if he just wanted to hear himself say it aloud, and he hopped up to fetch the ice cream. Adam began spooning the contents of the carton out onto his syrupy plate. He took a moment to catch his breath before going back in, patting his swollen belly consolingly. 

“Fuck,” Adam commented. “Feel like I've put on another fifteen just this morning.”

“Here,” Ronan said, “there's still three more sausage links.”

Adam leaned back to let Ronan put them on his plate, and then stayed that way for a moment, resting, hand draped across his tight middle. 

“You want me to take over?” Ronan asked.

“Would you? Hurts to sit up straight.”

Ronan scooted his chair closer and picked up a sausage with his fingers, pushing it into Adam's mouth with a lascivious grin that went straight to Adam's cock. It tasted great, the greasy salt cutting the cream and syrup. As Adam chewed, Ronan said, casually, “Blue and Gansey are coming back in a couple weeks. They want to stay here for a few nights before heading to Monmouth.”

Adam nearly choked, coughing and sputtering around the mouthful of sausage. Shit, it hurt to cough, his belly shaking painfully, his contracting abs fighting against the fullness pushing them out.

“Breathe,” Ronan said, rubbing comforting circles on Adam's heaving gut. 

“Hard,” Adam wheezed, “when I'm this fucking full.”

“So what do you think?”

Adam caught his breath and resettled himself in his chair, glancing down at at the slope of belly that made itself comfortable on his lap again. “I mean, they're our friends,” he said, letting Ronan feed him the second sausage. “Of course I'll be glad to see them. But...”

“What,” Ronan purred. “Don't want them to see how fat you're getting?”

“Not really, no,” Adam said. “And if they're around, we can't, uh...”

“I'm not going to let you go hungry, if that's what you're worried about,” Ronan said. “If you don't wanna let loose in front of them, I can put a stash of food in our room. Move a mini fridge up there or something.”

Adam found it strangely intoxicating to think that his appetite might be big enough to warrant a mini fridge in the bedroom. “No, I'm not worried, I just...” He shrugged, and admitted, “I like it being just you and me.”

“Me too,” Ronan said, and kissed him. 

“And yeah,” Adam said. “I'm not totally comfortable with this yet.” He tapped his gut. “And at the rate I'm going, I'll be even bigger when they show up.”

“They know you've put on weight,” Ronan said. “They've seen it in video chats. I told you, Gansey asked about it. And it's not – I mean, it's pretty visible in your face, your upper body. Not gonna be a surprise.”

“Should we – I don't know, tell them? Tell them why I've gained so much?”

Ronan, to Adam's surprise, turned red. “I think they know.”

“What?”

“Blue's been sending me these texts,” Ronan admitted. “Stupid memes about... chubby chasing, and feeding, and liking big guys, and... But she's also been sending me recipes. Those cheesecake bars were from her. So was the beer cheese soup.”

Adam took a moment to let this sink in. It was excruciatingly embarrassing to think that their friends were privy to details about their kinky sex life, but then again, it wasn't exactly the kind of kink Adam could hide. And he'd rather they know he was a willing participant than worry that he was depressed or had a thyroid problem or something. 

Absentmindedly, he leaned back to unbutton his jeans and push them down a little.

“Those are too tight?” Ronan said. “Already?”

“They're three months old,” Adam said defensively.

“Yeah, but I dreamed them to stretch two sizes up,” Ronan said. 

“Well,” Adam said, putting a careful hand on his side, “I don't know if you noticed, but I'm two sizes up.”

“Fuck,” Ronan said, and fed Adam the last sausage link.


	7. Chapter 7

Gansey and Blue arrived two and a half weeks later, in late August, both looking extremely windswept and tanned and fit from their months of driving around to national parks, hiking. They'd video chatted in the intervening weeks, and Ronan had noticed with interest that Adam brought up his weight a few times, clearly trying to prepare them. 

“I'm so sick of campfire meals,” Blue had said. “I can't wait to eat real food cooked in a real kitchen.”

“Well, there's lots of that here,” Adam had said. “As you can see.” He'd angled the computer camera slightly so they could see the upper half of his belly, curved and swollen. Blue's eyes had gone a little wide, and Gansey had grinned. 

Then, later, he'd made a show of trying to get comfortable on the couch, putting a cushion under his lower back, popping the button of his jeans. “Sorry,” Adam grunted, “just – trying to get used to this weight I've put on.”

“You look good,” Gansey said. “I'm looking forward to seeing you in person.”

“More of me to see,” Adam had said. 

He was up another ten pounds, he'd told Ronan, which put him at 240 and eighty pounds gained. Those ten pounds had pushed him into a new descriptive weight bracket, Ronan thought. He'd been thick, chunky, but now he looked solidly overweight, his chin sweetly padded, almost doubled, his pecs now more like moobs, a word Ronan hated but had to admit fit. Adam had small breasts, now, resting on his belly, and his ass was dimpling, succulent and round. He'd started to carry himself differently, too, belly first, his back a little arched, and the other day Ronan had caught him trying to get up from the couch, failing, and leaning back to get some momentum to try again. 

His belly was by far his most attention-calling feature, now, a smooth heavy globe that couldn't be hidden under even the largest of t-shirts. It still pushed out firmly in front of him but his soft underbelly now lapped his waistband when he stood, not hanging yet, but dipping just enough to conceal the button on his jeans. 

It was the belly that Ronan saw Gansey and Blue's eyes fasten on as they came up the front porch, Adam and Ronan waiting for them at the top of the stairs. 

“Wow,” Blue said, blinking, and threw her arms around Adam. She was so small her arms wrapped around the widest part of his belly and her head pillowed on his chest. “Holy shit you packed it on. I can't even reach all the way around you.”

“Nice to see you too, Blue,” Adam said, cheeks bright red, but he returned her hug with enthusiasm. Ronan tried not be jealous as he watched them over Gansey's shoulder, returning Gansey's hug with a pat-pat on his back. 

Gansey was next, approaching Adam with a cautious fascination. “I never thought I'd see the day,” he said. 

“Ne neither,” Adam said, laughing, rubbing the back of his neck. Ronan wanted to suck on the chunky underarm this movement exposed. 

Gansey hugged him cautiously, and Adam said, “I'm not gonna pop, Gansey, no matter how much I look like it,” and Gansey squeezed him tighter. 

“I made dinner,” Ronan said. “If you're hungry.”

“We know someone is,” Blue said, casting a significant glance at Adam.

“You're right,” Adam said blandly. “I am hungry. Let's eat.”

Ronan watched Adam carefully all through dinner, curious to see how he'd handle eating in front of Gansey and Blue. Conversation was lively and easy, Blue and Gansey telling stories of their adventures, finishing each others sentences, everyone getting a bit tipsy from the bottles of wine Ronan had brought up from the cellar. Ronan had made a pointedly rich meal: bechemel lasagna with a side of creamy spinach and artichoke dip and homemade bread. Actually, Ronan had made two lasagnas, because he and Adam usually split one; or rather, Adam ate most of one, and Ronan had a serving or two. 

Everyone was eating a lot – but Adam, bless him, was eating the most. He ate with characteristic quickness, steady and absolutely unrelenting, polishing off four pieces of lasagna in the time Blue barely managed one, spreading butter thickly on slice after slice of bread, helping himself to a huge serving of the spinach and artichoke dip and going back for more. When everyone else had finished and were sitting back in their seats drinking wine, Adam was still eating. 

Pink-cheeked, obviously aware of Gansey and Blue's eyes on him, Adam put another enormous serving of lasagna on his plate and dumped the rest of the spinach and artichoke dip along with it, scraping the last of the butter from the butter dish and smearing yet another thick slice of bread with it. He was eating with a slight air of defiance, Ronan noticed, as if daring anyone to stop him, and this little show of attitude made him want to tackle Adam to the floor and kiss him senseless. He cleaned his plate quickly, though it was clear he was full, beads of sweat on his forehead, face flushed from exertion as well as embarrassment. 

“God,” Adam said, when he'd mopped his plate with the bread. “I'm stuffed.”

Ronan, figuring what the hell, levered the last hefty piece of lasagna onto his plate.

“Thanks,” Adam said, tucking back in. “Oof. Christ. Think I ate pretty much that whole pan by myself. Gonna need a minute before dessert.”

“There's dessert?” squeaked Blue. 

Ronan barely heard her, his attention on Adam, who'd put a hand surreptitiously beneath the table and was rubbing his belly as he ate, clearly having a rough time of it but pushing through. Suddenly Ronan wished to god he'd never let Blue and Gansey through that door. If they were gone, he could –

“What's dessert?” Gansey asked with interest. 

“Cheesecake,” Ronan said.

“Of course,” said Blue. 

“Ugh,” groaned Adam.

After dinner they went into the den, piling onto the couch in order to watch a movie. Ronan brought the cheesecake with them, and a stack of plates, walking behind Adam in order to admire the slow, food-drunk way he was moving, how his ass had started to jiggle as he walked. Adam sat between Ronan and Gansey, wider than either of them now, and tucked himself up under Ronan's outstretched arm, shifting his weight with a groan and snuggling into Ronan's side. His belly pushed against Ronan's hip, hot and firm, and automatically Ronan put a hand to it soothingly. 

“You all right, Adam?” Gansey said, amusement clear in his voice. 

“Yeah,” Adam sighed. “Just really full.”

“Nothing a little cheesecake can't fix,” Blue said, and to Ronan's astonishment, she cut a thick slice and wedged it onto a plate, then handed it to Ronan as the opening credits started to roll. 

Ronan looked at the plate on his knee, then at the boy tucked under his arm. Adam was puffing adorably, his strained breaths audible even over the sound of the movie, and he had one hand pushed under his t-shirt, hand wedged under his belly where it sat on his thighs. That was a detail Ronan loved to track. The slow creep of Adam's belly and it surged forward onto his lap. 

“Here,” Ronan said, nudging Adam's lips with a forkful of cheesecake. As always, it nearly undid him when Adam took it obediently, sighing around it as he tongued it down his throat, too full even to properly chew. 

“God,” Adam murmured between bites. “So fucking stuffed right now. Can barely breathe.”

Gansey heard him, and, hesitantly, laid a hand on his straining belly. “Would this help?”

Ronan saw Adam's surprise. “Yeah,” Adam admitted, and Gansey stroked an experimental hand over his t-shirt, finding his belly button and starting to press slow, strong circles as Ronan carefully fed Adam the rest of the cheesecake. Normally Ronan would be turned-on by this, but the addition of Gansey made the whole act feel strangely, sweetly non-sexual. They were simply taking care of Adam, their friend, whom no one had ever taken good care of until he'd met them. And Adam, miracle of miracles, was letting them. 

Adam finished the cheesecake, grunting a little as he did so, then let out a shallow sigh and a few soft belches. Gansey kept up the soothing touch as Adam wheezed bonelessly and let out a small, helpless groan of discomfort. 

“Full,” he complained. 

“It's okay,” Ronan said, pressing a kiss to his forehead as Gansey paused his circles to tenderly pat the stretched side of his belly. “We've got you.”


	8. Chapter 8

Gansey and Blue ended up deciding to stay until Adam's first week of classes in early September, so they were there when Adam hit 250 and kept going. Once it had become clear that he wasn't going to plateau unless he slowed his appetite somehow, Adam had accepted that his future probably involved piling on a good deal more weight. He was eating so goddamn much, eating from morning to evening and then sometimes in between, waking up in the middle of the night and letting Ronan feed him peanut butter cups, or waking up too early because his belly was groaning, struggling to finish digesting but also demanding more food, forcing him to make his way down the stairs in the dark of the early morning so he could forage for something to tide him over until breakfast. 

Gansey found him like this early one morning, around 5am, sitting in the dark kitchen eating a meat lover's pizza from the freezer.

“Couldn't sleep?” Adam asked. Gansey shook his head, taking a seat across from Adam. 

“You either?” he said. 

Adam shrugged. “Got hungry.”

“Even after eating three cheeseburgers and most of a key lime pie last night?” Gansey said. He waved away Adam's offer of pizza. 

Adam looked down at the quickly-vanishing pizza, then at the mound of gut heaped on his thighs. “Even more so,” he said. “It, uh – it takes a lot to keep me full these days. Hey, you want some tea?”

“That'd be nice, thanks,” Gansey said, and watched as Adam got to his feet, which involved a bit more effort than it once had. Adam was acutely aware of the little grunt he made as he leaned forward, the way he had to hunch his back to accomodate his belly and lean on the table to get himself up. It wasn't usually this difficult, but he was sleepy and his balance was still off. 

“Ugh,” he said, palming his belly. “Mighta overdone it so early in the morning. You want lemon ginger, earl grey, or mint? Or coffee.”

“Mint,” Gansey said, of course. Adam collected his last slice of pizza and leaned back against the counter as he waited for the kettle, absentmindedly stroking the side of his tummy, feeling how it had begun swelling out roundly on his sides as well as to the front. He finished his pizza with a sigh and wiped his mouth. 

“You gonna judge me if I break into that banana bread Ronan made?” Adam asked.

“I would never judge you,” Gansey said. “Though I admit I'm a little shocked at how much you eat even when it clearly pains you.”

Adam set Gansey's steaming mug of tea in front of him and turned to cut himself a very generous slice of the chocolate chip banana bread. After a moment's hesitation, he spread a thick layer of butter on it and went to sit back down, thudding into his chair. 

“Yeah,” Adam said. “It does hurt a little, but... I don't know if I can explain it, but it's a good kind of hurt, too.” In case he wasn't making himself clear, he forced himself to say, “I like being too full.”

“Are you too full now?”

“Not yet,” Adam said. “Right now I'm just full.”

Gansey nodded as if that made any sense at all, and Adam loved him for it. “What's it like, gaining so much weigh?”

“Kind of uncomfortable. Kind of nice.” He was blushing. “I don't know if I'm ready to talk about that. I haven't figured it out for myself just yet.”

“Of course.” Gansey sipped his tea, and Adam chewed his banana bread. When he'd finished the slice, Gansey surprised him by taking his plate and cutting him another, putting just as much butter on it as Adam had. He fetched him a tall glass of milk, too. “For what it's worth,” Gansey said, “I quite like the way you look now.”

Adam touched his tummy self-consciously. “Yeah?”

“You look...” Gansey examined him so closely Adam had to look away. “Happy,” Gansey decided. Adam couldn't help but smile. 

“I think I am,” he said. 

+

A few mornings later found them up too early again, and they decided to go out onto the porch to watch the sunrise, Gansey with a mug of tea, Adam with half a pan of peanut butter brownies and a pint of coffee ice cream. 

He'd added new stretchmarks up and down his sides recently, and a few little ones around his belly button, and they were oddly itchy, his skin stretched too much too fast. He scratched lazily as he enjoyed the slow glow of morning and the excellent brownies. He and Gansey didn't talk much, but when Adam got to the end of the brownies and couldn't hold back his small sounds of discomfort, Gansey reached out to rub his belly as he finished off the ice cream. 

“It's remarkable how much you manage to eat so early,” Gansey said. “I can tell you've gained weight just since we got here two weeks ago.”

“You can?” Adam said, surprised, through a thick mouthful of ice cream. He swallowed. “Uh – how can you tell?”

“You --” Gansey hesitated. “I won't offend you, will I?”

“No,” said Adam, honestly. “You couldn't.”

“Well, when we first arrived, I thought – I mean, clearly you've put on quite a bit of weight, and you look a lot bigger than you used to, but you didn't... that is to say, I might have described you as chubby, or plump, or...”

“Say it, Gansey,” Adam said, starting to smile, amused at his friend's stuttering. 

“Recently you've started looking kind of – well, actually, fat.”

Adam let this settle, spooning the dregs of the ice cream into his mouth. “Well, you're right,” he said. “I've put on thirteen pounds since you got here. I'm really starting to feel it, too. Fat.”

“How do you mean?” Gansey sounded genuinely curious. 

Adam felt his cheeks grow pink but he tried to explain. “Just heavier all over,” he said. “This thing...” he laid a hand on his tummy, “It's starting to get in the way a little. When I bend over or whatever.”

“I noticed that,” Gansey said. “When you were tying your shoes. It didn't look comfortable.”

“No,” Adam said. He didn't mention how his gut was also starting to get in Ronan's way when he blew him, his head pressing into his underbelly, changing his rhythm unless he came at Adam sideways. He arched his back, trying to resettle his weight. His belly rested heavily on his thighs, a warm heavy presence growing heavier by the day. 

“It's weird,” he admitted. “Getting fat. I thought I'd hate it, but...”

“But you don't hate it,” Gansey said, smiling.

“No,” Adam said in wonderment. “I don't.”

+

Adam's classes started up again, and he found it jarring to see himself onscreen, his padded chin, his rounder cheeks. Even from the shoulders up it was clear he'd put on weight, though none of his classmates mentioned it, and he couldn't tell if they were staring at him or not. Weirdly, he thought he wanted them to. He began to experiment with adjusting his camera lower, so the fat curve of his belly was apparent, and once, during a two-hour night class, he very obviously ate an entire coconut cream pie right out of the pie pan, taking big bites between notes, then settling himself back when he was finished and letting the camera catch his hand resting on his gut. Nobody was rude enough to call him on it, but Adam imagined them private messaging about it, and later, when he and Ronan fucked, he fantasized about what they might say. 

Get a load of Parrish. Holy shit, the guy's looking huge. Is that a pie he's eating? 

Having Blue and Gansey around, their familiar presences, their nonjudgement, had helped Adam relax into his gain, and the non-reaction of his classmates – even if it was a bit disappointing – helped do the same. He was starting to look forward to seeing the numbers on the scale rise instead of dreading it; starting to look forward to noticing new changes in his body. 

“It's weird, because 250 was only fifteen pounds ago, but I feel so much bigger now at 275,” Adam explained to a rapt Ronan. “Look, my sleeves are too tight, and I've got all these new stretchmarks. My belly's starting to sag, I think.”

“Show me,” Ronan demanded.

Adam was sitting in a kitchen chair, and he put both hands on his knees to hoist himself up, but it still took him two tries. “That's new, too,” he commented. “Harder to get up, lately.” He turned to the side so Ronan could see him in profile, pulling up his t-shirt and settling it over the fat shelf of his upper belly, grabbing his underbelly and hefting it with both hands. “See? It's hanging lower.”

“Your back is fatter, too,” Ronan said. 

Adam put his hands to the small of his back, feeling the swollen curve of his backfat spilling over his waistband. “It's starting to hurt,” he admitted. “Carrying this gut around.”

“I'd give you a massage if I thought you could lie on your front,” Ronan said.

“Give me a muffin, instead,” Adam suggested, and sat back in the chair heavily. He'd forgotten to pull his shirt back down and he struggled for a moment, leaning back and trying to pull it free from the roll between his chest and belly before it came loose and he smoothed the hem over his stretchmarked skin. Lately he was really feeling the way his new weight was limiting his movement: fat clustering around his knees and making it harder to bend them into a cross-legged position, his fat neck making it less comfortable to look down, his belly bumping into the shower door and swiping glasses off countertops and taking up more space in their bed. 

That was the price, he supposed, for gaining over a hundred pounds in eight months. 

“You're starting to snore, too,” Ronan informed him, putting a blueberry muffin down on a plate. 

“Oh no, really?” Adam took a big bite. “Does it keep you up?”

“Nah, it's cute,” Ronan said, and did an imitation that sounded a little like a cat purring. “And if you've really eaten a lot before bed, sometimes you make this little groaning noise.”

“I've always eaten a lot before bed,” Adam said. 

“And in bed, and after bed, and in the mornings, the afternoons, the evenings...”

“No wonder I'm getting so goddamn heavy,” Adam said, brushing muffin crumbs off his belly shelf. 

“So goddamn sexy,” Ronan corrected.

“Can't I be both?” Adam said. 

“You are,” Ronan said.


	9. Chapter 9

300 hit Adam hard over winter break. 

Ronan could see it, could see how it wasn't comfortable for his boyfriend to sit with his legs together anymore – between his fat thighs and heavy, swollen belly, sitting with his legs shut took effort, and Ronan watched in fascination as Adam's tummy settled happily between his parted legs, sagging roundly forward into the extra space. He was noticing Adam's weight in surprising, delicious new ways, particularly his hands, which Ronan had always adored. They were pudgy now, his wrists getting thick, his fingers chubby. He couldn't sleep on his back anymore, belly too heavy; he had to sleep on his side with his gut lying next to him, and he complained about this almost as much as he complained about having to hold up his own belly when he got a blowjob sitting down. 

But it was 325 that really hit him like a freight train. 

Ronan's car was out of commision the spring evening they were to drive to Monmouth for dinner, so they took the Hondoyota for the first time in a while. When Adam climbed into the driver's seat, Adam let out a little grunt of discomfort, and Ronan glanced over to see that he didn't have enough room to get his legs far enough apart to let his belly sit, so it had piled up on his lap, looking very big and very round and very uncomfortable, nudging up against the wheel. Ronan watched as Adam tried to get his belt buckled, reaching around that big gut to try and reach the buckle, and when he did, he gripped his tummy with one firm hand and lifted it enough to settle the belt beneath it. 

“Jesus,” Adam muttered. “I'm too fat for my own fucking car.”

They started down the drive, Ronan watching how Adam's belly and chest quivered gently in response to the movement, and he reached over to lay a hand across his side and feel the minute trembles of his flesh. His hand wandered up to cup Adam's tit, a full round handful, the nipple standing immediately to attention. 

“Quit distracting me,” Adam said, batting at his hand. 

“You're the one distracting me,” Ronan groused. “Anyway, I brought snacks in case they don't feed you enough.”

“Since when have Blue and Gansey ever not fed me enough?” Adam said, amused. Then, “What kind of snacks?”

The drive to Monmouth was forty minutes, and Adam easily polished off the box of Twinkies Ronan had bought almost as a joke. Ronan licked stray cream off his lower lip when they pulled into the parking lot, and brushed away the crumbs that lay on the jut of Adam's stomach. Then he sat back and enjoyed the sight of his boyfriend trying to heave himself out of a too-small car. 

“Christ,” Adam panted, climbing the stairs, “I remember when I used to run up these. God, Ronan, I've gotten so fat.”

His sweater had ridden up with the exertion, a pale swell of underbelly on display, and Ronan decided not to say anything. It was too fucking cute. 

“Hi!” Blue said happily, when they came through the door, and bounded over to tug Adam's sweater down for him and stand on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his flushed cheek. “Sit down, sit down, I put out cheese and crackers for you. You can have some too, Ronan,” she said. 

“Ha ha,” Adam said. 

“What do you want to drink?” Gansey called from the kitchen. “Beer, wine, whiskey?”

“Beer!” Ronan and Adam called in unison. Adam was lowering himself onto the couch in front of a huge platter, spreading his legs so he could lean forward and pile cheddar and crackers onto a paper plate.

“You look so round,” Blue said. “Bet you could put that plate right on your belly.”

“Huh,” Adam said, balancing it and plucking a piece of cheese from it. “You win that bet.”

“Look ma, no hands,” Ronan said, to cover the fact that this was an erotic act in his eyes. Adam looked at him, smiling faintly, eyes dark, as if he knew exactly what this was doing to Ronan.

“Jesus,” Gansey said, coming into the room with beers and stopping to blink at them. “Adam, you've put on a lot of weight since – when did we last see you? A month ago?”

“I know,” Adam said. “Blame Ronan. He's been experimenting with cake shakes. Do you know what those are?”

“I believe I can guess,” Gansey said. 

“I'm only the one making the cake shakes,” Ronan said. “Not the one eating them. I'm not the one waking up his boyfriend and asking for a cake shake in bed at 3am.”

Adam shrugged, lifting the cheese plate so he could arch his back and reposition his belly, then resettling the plate and eating more cheese. “What's for dinner?” he wanted to know.

“Thought we could order Thai?” Gansey said. 

“Sounds great,” Adam said, and Gansey brought up the menu on his phone and passed it around, everyone telling him what they wanted as he wrote it down. 

“This is gonna be good,” Blue said when they got to Adam. 

Adam gave her a brief, sheepish grin. “Two orders of pad thai, please,” he said. “Beef in peanut sauce. And whatever's fried on the appetizer list.”

“There are a few fried things,” Gansey said, looking. 

“Yeah,” Adam said. 

“Uh – you want – all of them?”

Adam touched his belly a little self-consciously, and Ronan squirmed with pleasure. “Yeah, all of them,” Adam said. “I'll share.”

He did not share. He ate an order each of fried golden chicken, crispy tofu, curry puffs, and thai egg rolls all by himself, and then methodically demolished both containers of pad thai. By the time he started on the beef in peanut sauce, everyone else had long finished eating and Adam was damp-browed and huffing. 

“Is there more rice?” he said. “Finished mine. Ronan, could you --”

Ronan leaned forward to dump rice onto Adam's plate, then added the rest of the beef in peanut sauce. 

Adam rested his plate on his upper belly and ate, his breath coming short. When he was finished he handed Ronan his empty plate and slumped back, groaning. His sweater had tightened as he filled up and was clinging to the globe of his gut. 

“Whew,” Adam said. “Am I ever full.”

“Here,” Blue said, coming over to sit by his knees, “I bet this will feel good.” She tugged up his sweater before he could protest and began rolling her cold beer bottle around the wide pale swell of the belly on his lap. 

“Christ, that does feel good,” Adam said.

Ronan glowered, wondering why he'd never thought to do such a thing. His jealousy was short-lived, however, replaced with a sudden surprising rush of delight as he watched Blue tending to Adam with such care. Adam's eyes were half-lidded like a sated cat, his lips parted, breath shallow. 

“God, I feel so fucking fat right now,” he said. “You don't have to do that, Blue. It's my own damn fault for eating so much.”

“Thought we were blaming everything on Ronan.” Blue kept rolling the bottle as Adam's belly jolted with his laughter.

They put on a movie and Adam started dozing on Ronan's shoulder almost immediately. Ronan stroked his knuckles tenderly over Adam's tightly bloated tummy, and Adam sighed in pleasure and fullness. 

“Getting so big,” he murmured. 

“Yeah,” Ronan said. 

“Belly hurts.”

“No shit. You know how fried food sits with you.”

“But it tastes so good.” He yawned, breath warm against Ronan's neck, and Ronan shivered a little with how much he wanted him, how much he loved him. He flattened his palm and slipped it up under Adam's sweater, rubbing consoling circles across that warm, stretchmarked skin. “Mm,” Adam said, “that feels nice.”

“Agreed,” Ronan said. 

+

A few months later they were in bed, Adam curled onto his side, Ronan facing him, as close as he could get with Adam's belly in the way. They'd been fooling around for hours, alternating between eating (Adam), feeding (Ronan), and fucking (both), and Adam looked sleepy and sated, lips pink from being kissed, a few freckles on his nose from the spring sunshine. Ronan was running a hand up and down Adam's side, appreciating the divot of the roll at his hip and the way his thick hip curved into a thick thigh. 

“I gained ten pounds since June,” Adam said. “Can you tell?”

“Yup,” Ronan said. “Here.” He drew a finger from Adam's belly button to his waist. “You look broader. Oh, and definitely here.” He leaned to pat Adam's ass. “You're walking differently.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. I'm into it.”

“I'm at 355. Do you know what that means?”

Ronan arched an eyebrow. “It means you got fat? Well, fatter?”

“It means I've put on two hundred pounds in a little over a year and a half.”

Ronan, who'd been feeling sleepy, was suddenly very awake. He sat up. “Holy shit. How did I not think of that?”

Adam shrugged as well as he could lying down. “It only ocurred to me when I weighed myself this morning.”

“Sit up, let's see,” Ronan said.

Adam groaned. “You've been looking at me all night.” But he pushed himself up and rested against the headboard, arms at his sides, legs splayed, stretchmarked belly sinking between his spread thighs. He rested a hand on the crest of his tummy, patting it absentmindedly, and glanced at Ronan with a coy expression. “You don't think I look like I've gained 200 pounds, do you?”

“Yes I fucking do.”

Adam laughed, belly quivering. “This is all your fault, you know.”

Ronan was on his knees now, climbing into what little lap Adam had left. He curved himself over Adam's heavy gut to kiss him, one hand at the back of Adam's head, the other stroking down his round side. “My fault,” he said against Adam's neck. “I'm not the one who ate a pint of ice cream as a midmorning snack.”

“You did this,” Adam said, as he always said, but Ronan decided to break script for once. He sat back, taking in the glorious sight of his boyfriend, fat and happy and cared-for, soft and sweet and safe. 

“No,” Ronan said. “We did. Together.”


End file.
